


Feint

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur ordering Merlin around, Banter, Camping, First Time, Fluff, Glompfest, M/M, Merlin and Arthur in the forest, Merlioske-friendly, Mutual Pining, Quests, Sassy Merlin (Merlin), Smut, Snarky Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:54:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23614093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: Three insufferable brothers visit Camelot, making life intolerable for Arthur. Luckily, he has a cunning plan for escaping into the forest with Merlin. A totally solid, sound and foolproof plan, which he certainly is not making up as he goes along.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 262
Collections: Camelot's Golden Age of Porn, Merthur Glompfest 2020





	Feint

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueskysunnyday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueskysunnyday/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [blueskysunnyday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueskysunnyday/pseuds/blueskysunnyday) in the [Merthur_Glompfest_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Merthur_Glompfest_2020) collection. 



> **Feint (vb):** To make a deceptive or distracting movement, especially during a fight.  
> For dearest Blue, who deserves All The Nice Things, especially Fluffy, Smutty Things, and who left such a delicious prompt (see end notes)  
> With huge thanks to my cheerleader-beta, Tari_sue

***

“Up you get, lazy daisy.”

“ _Nggh_?”

“You heard.” With an unceremonious tug, Merlin wrestled away the Crown Prince of Camelot’s bedclothes.

The prince himself tumbled after, grumbling all the while. “By all the gods, what is the hurry? Is Camelot on fire?” Rolling to his knees, he scowled up at Merlin, jagged spikes of blond hair sticking out at several angles and face scrunched into a pained expression that Merlin found hopelessly endearing, although of course he could never let the prat know that.

“Your father has summoned you to court.” To avoid appearing too fond, Merlin turned away and pulled aside the curtains. Sunshine flooded the room. “The delegation from Lothian will be here soon.”

Arthur groaned and slumped back to the floor, bedclothes draped around his bare chest, one arm cast across his eyes.

“Can I not get a moment’s pea— _mffmfff_!”

The last statement was lost, because Merlin had taken the opportunity given by Arthur’s mouth being open to shove a stale scone into his mouth.

“Breakfast.” He beamed down at the prince, hands on hips. 

“You know, many years ago,” said Arthur, spitting out the scone so that it scattered into crumbs beneath his bed and leaping to his feet in a fluid movement where only a moment before had been only lethargy. “Many, many years ago. There was a prize awarded to servants for exceptional service. If only it still existed. I would award it to you today, because this is exceptional, even for you.”

Expression intent, Arthur advanced on Merlin, who backed slowly away, one hand raised.

“Thank you, Sire.” Surreptitiously, Merlin scanned the near environment for potential projectiles. He knew what that expression meant. Any moment now, Arthur would chuck something heavy and painful at Merlin’s head and Merlin would be required to take hasty action or suffer a bruised forehead. He would have to time his reaction carefully.

“I mean exceptionally _poor_ , Merlin,” added Arthur, scrabbling around at his desk. "As if there could ever be any doubt.”

“I’m shocked to hear it, Sire.”

Just as Arthur darted to the left, Merlin ducked, arms cradling his head. Something whistled past his head and tinkled harmlessly to the floor.

“Will that be all, Sire?” said Merlin, brightly, scurrying across to retrieve the item (a pewter goblet) and tuck it beneath his jacket. 

“No it will not!” roared Arthur. “Fetch me a bath. At once!”

He turned to pull down the loose trousers that he had been sleeping in, revealing a pale and tautly muscled royal behind as he stepped out of them.

Mouth suddenly dry, Merlin swallowed. The view of a suddenly very naked Arthur muddled his thoughts for a moment so he couldn’t think of a sufficiently pithy way of telling Arthur that the bath was already on its way.

Arthur turned to toss the garment at him. “And while you’re at it, make yourself useful and put these in the laundry.”

As much to distract himself from the majestic sight of Arthur’s full frontal nudity as anything else, Merlin made a show of flinching when the trousers hit him in the face, and of pulling them off his head with an indignant tug. “Ugh. God! Someone got out of bed on the wrong side, today!”

“And whose fault is that? Idiot!”

“Well if you hadn’t been such a cabbagehead about giving Sir Thomas my horse so that we had to return from the hunt on foot yesterday, perhaps we would not have been so late getting to bed…”

“Sir Thomas was severely injured!”

Merlin rolled his eyes at the chivalrous clotpole. “Sir Thomas had a minor sprain. I hardly see how that would prevent him from riding”

“Minor sprains are very painful!”

“To his little finger? Anyone would think you were trying to find excuses to get back late.”

To anyone else, Arthur’s minute blink at that comment would have meant nothing. But to Merlin, connoisseur of royal cabbageheads and their facial tics, it spoke louder than a thousand words. He raised an indignant finger to point at the prat. “I knew it! You did it on purpose!”

“I did not!” Frowning, Arthur placed a hand to Merlin’s chest and advanced.

“You did!” Merlin retreated a couple of steps until his back was against the wall, Arthur’s hand warm against his sternum.

“Did not!”

“Did!” squeaked Merlin. Their faces were close enough now that Arthur’s breath gusted against Merlin’s face. Merlin licked his lips, letting his gaze down towards Arthur’s mouth and then glancing a little further down, which made him gulp.

“I’m the prince. You can’t contradict me!” Arthur’s eyes flipped lazily down and up, and his voice descended to a purr as he added. “Merlin.”

“Pulling rank, now? That—”

There was a polite knock at the door. “Arthur? Sire?” came a familiar voice. “Merlin sent for a bath?” Gwen peeped around the door.

“Guinevere!”

Paling, Arthur backed away, grabbing his trousers out of Merlin’s hand and placing them strategically in front of him.

“Oh!” Gwen’s hand flew up to her mouth as she hastily withdrew, adding from behind the door. “I’m sorry, my Lord. I didn’t mean to interrupt what you and Merlin were doing, not that you were doing anything, obviously, haha—”

“No, no, no, we weren’t, I mean…” Face aflame, Merlin swallowed hard. “Haha, I don’t know what you… oh! I see why you might, haha… but obviously it wasn’t I mean… we were just… Arthur was being… anyway… I can see that it might look like that, but… Anyway what were you—?”

Pink-faced and scowling, Arthur backed slowly away and disappeared behind his changing screen, the coward, leaving Merlin to deal with his embarrassment alone.

“We’ve brought Arthur’s bath!” came Gwen’s voice, amid giggling.

“Oh! The bath! Of course! Let me help.” Taking a few panicky breaths, Merlin willed down his unfortunate reaction to his earlier proximity to all that finely toned muscle before plastering a smile onto his face.

He headed out around the door to help the three servants manhandle Arthur’s bathwater into the room, and wrenched his thoughts away from the unfortunate moment of sheer nearness that had left him so flustered. Instead, he let his thoughts turn to the group arriving imminently from Lothian. It was odd how reluctant Arthur seemed to meet this delegation. The three sons of King Lot were known to be amiable enough. Arthur had spoken of both their honourable attitudes and honest ways of speaking. Plus, he had mentioned with approval their prowess in the tourney and the tavern alike, which from him counted as high praise.

Once the others had left, Merlin decided to broach the topic while Arthur lowered himself into the water, skin pinking amid the soft tendrils of steam.

“So. What is it about these Lothian types that scares you so much?” He raised the sponge and dipped it into the bath, letting it slide along the pinking planes of Arthur’s bare shoulders before returning it to get wet again.

“I’m the Prince of Camelot, Merlin! Not some blushing maiden to be scared of the likes of Gareth and his meat-head brothers.”

“Meat-head?”

“Oh, they’re not so bad,” conceded Arthur, lifting one arm and then the other to allow Merlin access to its underside with the cloth. “I mean, they’ve got no malice to them. They’re great friends of Camelot, really. It’s just that they’re so… hypercompetitive.”

“Hypercompetitive?” Merlin paused in his ministrations with the now-dripping cloth.

“Mmm. Well, to be honest, Merlin, you’ve led a sheltered existence. So you have no idea how annoying it is to be stuck with some bunch of big-headed…” Arthur waved his hand in the air as he groped for the word. “…boastful… scrappers, that’s the word for them. Forever bragging about their sword wielding and womanising, and trying to out-do one another with their drinking and all. And everyone else in the vicinity.”

“Hmm!” Suppressing a chuckle, Merlin cocked an eyebrow as he squeezed out the cloth and re-dipped it before rubbing it along the thickly roped sinews of Arthur’s neck. “You’re right of course, I’ve got no idea what that’s like. Must be irritating.”

“And all that… well.” Arthur leaned forward, exposing an expanse of back. “I suppose that all that fighting, carousing and bragging can get a bit tiresome after a while.”

A snort of laughter did escape Merlin then, as he poured a cascade of hot water onto Arthur’s hair so that it plastered flat to his head in a helmet of wet, dark-gold strands.

“What is so funny?” replied Arthur in a dangerous voice.

“Nothing!” said Merlin, not wishing to disturb the peace.

Because, of all Merlin’s duties caring for Arthur, bathing the prince had to be one of his favourites. The bath provided the best opportunity for Merlin to gawk at his leisure. Arthur’s back flexed under Merlin’s fingertips as Merlin massaged warm sleek, golden skin for quite a bit more time than was strictly necessary. For once, Arthur didn’t complain, instead letting out occasional contented moans that did nothing for Merlin’s equilibrium. It was quite easy for Merlin, on mornings like this, to drift away into a reverie, imagining those very same noises in a rather different context as he swept his hand along Arthur’s shoulder blades, soothing away the aches with an expert dip of his thumb here and press of the flat of his hand there.

What would it be like if all Merlin’s secrets were out in the open? If Arthur knew of the strength of Merlin’s devotion and of his magic? Perhaps one day he would. Merlin would rescue Arthur from an evil enchanter and kneel at Arthur’s feet, his heart laid bare. And on that day, perhaps Arthur would express his gratitude in soft, breathless grunts like these as Merlin bathed him and then…

“Merlin.”

…then, perhaps he would beg Merlin to let his fingers roam beneath the waterline, or maybe he would surge out of the waters, rampant and kingly, skin glistening with moisture, and permit Merlin to worship every line of his body with eager lips and tongue and teeth…

“Merlin!”

“Hmm?”

“There’s someone at the door. Stop daydreaming and go and see what they want.”

Arthur stood up in the tub, much as he had in the fantasy scenario that Merlin had been playing through his head only moments before. Only in reality, all it meant was that water went all over Merlin’s clothes and spilled onto the floor while Arthur padded over to pick fault with the clothes that Merlin had put out for him, dripping all the while.

“Sire, your father has requested your presence in the council chamber at once. The delegation from Lothian has arrived.” Unlike Gwen, Leon kept his eyes suitably averted as he delivered his message. “I am to escort you.”

Merlin and Arthur exchanged a glance, neither of them at all deceived by Leon’s use of the term “requested”, nor his polite expression “escort you”.

“Of course, Leon.” Still wet, Arthur frowned at his shirt and before Merlin had a chance to run over and help, started to struggle into it. “Come on, Merlin. Get on with it and stop lollygagging.”

“Lollygagging?” Merlin let his mouth drop open in mock outrage. “Me? Says the man who has just drenched me and the entire room with water and is now standing there with his wet shirt on inside out and back to front…”

“Well. Sort it out then! I haven’t got all day!”

Merlin tugged at the linen, a motion that Arthur vigorously resisted.

“Hold still!” Merlin cried. “Honestly, can’t you do the smallest thing for yourself? I’m beginning to think that you do this on purpose.”

“Huh. This from the man who can’t tell his own arse from his elbow. Mind you, I’m not surprised, given by how bony your arse is.”

“Oh, spent a lot of time examining it, have you, Sire?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Merlin,” growled Arthur. “Now, where did you leave my belt?”

“I didn’t leave your belt anywhere. You yelled something about me taking too much time last night, and tossed it carelessly somewhere when undressed, as usual, before telling me to leave before I had a chance to find it…”

“Sire, if I could just remind you that the King wishes your presence immediately?” Leon was soft spoken, but he betrayed his agitation by hopping from one foot to another as he spoke.

“Of course, Leon,” said Merlin. “Just as soon as this clotpole here can manage to do what most of us learned to do as toddlers, and put his clothes on the right way around.”

“I’m standing right here!”

“Um. I’ll just… wait out here, then, shall I?” said Leon, slipping outside and quietly tugging the door closed behind him.

***

In the end, they arrived in the throne room only a few minutes late. Out of breath and flushed from running down the stairs, Merlin slipped into the room with Leon and Arthur and stood beside them, half a pace behind, head bowed and chest heaving from the exertion.

It had been a close run thing. He had only located Arthur’s belt by muttering a hasty spell under his breath. Luckily, Arthur had still been in the middle of ranting about Merlin’s incompetence at the time and didn’t notice a thing.

“Father.”

“Ah, Arthur,” said Uther, eyes narrow. “Good of you to join us at last.”

Merlin winced at the note of withering sarcasm, keeping his gaze trained safely on the floor.

“Our friends from Lothian have been looking forward to meeting you again. We were worried that perhaps you might have fallen down a garderobe.”

Jaw jutting, Arthur muttered something indistinct that may have passed for an apology, while all around him the assembled court tittered in polite though nervous appreciation of the king’s humour. There was no telling what Uther would do next when he was in this mood, and no-one wanted to be the one who would get picked on for laughing too loudly—nor too quietly, for that matter.

Luckily, the delegation from Lothian had no such qualms.

“Arthur, ya lazy gobshite. Good to see ye again, old friend!” roared out a gutteral voice his Lothian accent so thick that Merlin struggled to follow his words. “Ah dinnae blame ye for oversleeping. The gods know I like my sleep, myself!”

Prompted by curiosity, Merlin peeped at the visitors from beneath his lashes. Standing alongside Uther were three young men clad in rich chain mail. Broad-shouldered and stern of jaw, if the men had worn red travel cloaks rather than blue, they could have been mistaken for knights of Camelot. They resembled one another—clearly close relatives.

“Alas, dear Sir Gareth,” said Arthur, smoothly. “Please accept my apologies. I fear that my manservant, who suffers from a severe mental deficiency, was today even less competent than usual, hence our tardy arrival.” Without bothering to look, he reached behind to cuff Merlin around the back of the head.

“Ow!” Merlin rubbed at the spot in mock outrage while the court made sympathetic noises. “Prat,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes and plotting vengeance.

“A mental deficiency is it?” Sir Gareth chuckled. “Aye, ye have nae changed, Arthur. Ye always did have a soft heart.”

Broad shouldered and thickening slightly around the waist, Sir Gareth had an air of gravitas about him that suggested he must be the oldest. He smiled broadly as he descended the steps from the dais to greet Arthur warmly with a pat to the back.

“Looking forward to the feast tonight, laddy. My knights will drink Camelot’s under the table of course.”

“I think you’ll find that Arthur is more than a match for you, dear Gareth,” said Uther, warmly.

Arthur chuckled. “Come, Sir Gareth. Given the length of your journey, there will be no shame if you are unable to match us drink for drink! But it will be fun trying.”

“Och, I really don’t see there being a problem. I hae a head for mead that few can match. Not even Gaheris, here.”

“And how fare you, Sir Gaheris? When last we met, you were shaping up to become a fine swordsman.”

“Aye, Arthur. And ye bested me in a bare-knuckle fist fight, but I’m willing to bet ye will struggle to repeat that feat now!”

Merlin scoffed at that. In the years that he had known Arthur, he had never seen his prince beaten in a fair fight. Only Gwaine had ever come close—and even he had never managed to defeat Arthur. The two trained together daily, often surrounded by a circle of admirers, in a deadly-looking dance that served only to hone their skills beyond any other in Camelot.

“That sounds like a challenge I can’t wait to meet.” Arthur bowed, still smiling, eyes glittering with danger. “And how could I forget Sir Galahad? It has been, what, four summers since we last met? It seems you, too, have trained hard in that time.”

“Aye, sire.” It was Galahad’s turn to bow, the most handsome of the three, and the youngest by some years, a lad on the cusp of adulthood. He must have been but a boy four years ago. “I was unable to convince you then to let me become a knight!”

“Indeed. You were younger than most of our squires!”

“But… I have trained hard since then. And now, if you would have me, I would love to join your ranks.”

“I would like nothing better—as long as you meet our tough standards.”

“Excellent,” said Uther, leaning back on the throne. “Arthur is right. New knights must be tested of course, by the most rigorous standards necessary. Arthur will put you through your paces, I am sure. But forgive me, you must be weary after your long journey.” He beckoned to the servant who stood behind him. “See our guests to their quarters so that they can rest before training.”

“Whisht, that won’t be necessary,” grinned Sir Gareth, holding up a hand. “I’m raring to go. Enough time to rest later. I say we go to the pit, fight each other, and then after we’ve all beaten Arthur here to a pulp, the soft southern Jessie, we can fix his wounds with gallons of mead. What say ye, Arthur?”

“I say you’ve been at the mead already if you think you’ll get near beating me!” retorted Arthur, squaring his shoulders. “I’ll have every one of you flat on your backs before four minutes is up!”

“That’s the spirit, laddie!” Gareth roared with laughter, bashing Arthur so hard on the back that the prince nearly fell over with the force of it. “I always did like you! Do me a favour, will ye? Do me the courtesy of letting me beat you first. To break ye in for my brothers.”

***

It turned out that the three men had not exaggerated their prowess, but in the end, none of them was a match for Arthur. But nevertheless, Gaheris had managed to land a blow on Arthur’s face before Arthur floored him with a well-aimed punch to the jaw that made his own knuckles bleed—and Galahad, wielding the two-handed claymore that the Lothian delegation favoured, had held Arthur off in a sword fight that had lasted for over twenty minutes.

The feast that had followed was suitably ribald and would be talked about for many months in Camelot.

By the time Merlin got round to escorting the tipsy prince back to his chambers, with one hand upon Arthur’s elbow, the majority of Camelot’s citizens were long abed. They had left Gareth snoring into his tankard, while Galahad and Gaheris had taken to their beds many hours earlier.

“Come on, you. Let’s get you to bed or you’ll still be down here at cock-crow.”

“I can drink more,” protested Arthur. “M’not a Jessie, m’not a lightweigh’.”

“No, sire. Of course you are not,” crooned Merlin, taking care to snag a couple of skins of water on his way out. “You are the last man standing, as always. Now, let’s get you to bed.”

“All right. But y’ m’ witness, M’r’ln. This lot…” Flailing wildly, Arthur flung his arm out and nearly fell over from the momentum, forcing Merlin to grab him by the waist and prop him against his own body for security. “This lot… rubbish. All of them. M’ the besht at drinkin’. And fightin’.”

“Of course you are, sire.”

“Y’ my best frien’, M’lin.”

“You’re a bit drunk, Arthur. Let’s get you to bed—so I can go to mine.”

“You could come to bed with me.” Arthur blinked at him, eyes black and sorrowing by the dimly flickering light of the guttering torches.

“No, Arthur, I really couldn’t.” Merlin groaned inwardly. It wasn’t the first time that Arthur had suggested such a thing when he was in his cups, and the temptation was real. But it would not be fair to take advantage of Arthur’s lost inhibitions. He would be mortified if he woke up in the morning to find Merlin lying by his side, drooling onto his pillow.

“I’d like you to. Y’ smell nice.”

“No, Arthur!” God. Why did the prat have to be so… so…

It was no good. He could not bring himself to utter any of the words that described Arthur as a drunk, even in the privacy of his own head. It was too painful to think of words like endearing and vulnerable and, gods damnit, sweet. Instead, Merlin directed the prince towards the door of his bedchamber with a steady hand at his waist, and thought virtuous thoughts while the prince disrobed and chucked his clothes into a messy pile for Merlin to pick up.

“Here, drink some of this or you’ll feel like death in the morning.”

Arthur swigged from the waterskin, dabbing at his mouth with his sleeve. This uncharacteristic obedience was another one of those intolerably sweet things about this drunken version of Arthur. That, together the plump pinkness of his lips, and the flush that highlighted the strong line of his cheekbones, and the sheer innocence of his gaze, raised a fierce protective instinct in Merlin. One that Arthur would not appreciate, should he ever hear of it.

“A few more sips, Sire.”

“Thank you Merlin. Y’r a good frien’.”

“Good night, Sire.”

“G’night, Merlin,” said Arthur, yawning as he burrowed his head into his pillow, hair fanning into soft, golden spikes. His eyes closed almost immediately, and his breathing started to slow.

At moments like these, the bright halo of Arthur’s hair and the slow rise and fall of his chest filled Merlin’s throat and heart and lungs and belly with an unbearable ache, a longing that would rise up and engulf him, if only he would let it. He had to talk sternly to himself, reminding himself of the good fortune that had brought him here, to be trusted by this beautiful man in his most vulnerable moments to take care of him while the castle slumbered. It was not his place to wish for any more than that.

“Sweet dreams, Arthur.” Merlin drew the counterpane up to Arthur’s chin, pausing to tuck a wayward strand of Arthur’s hair behind his ear.

Arthur’s eyelids flickered, and his face turned towards Merlin’s hand, but he did not wake.

Gods. Merlin hoped the Lothians would not be staying long. He didn’t think he could stand another night of this.

***

“Two more weeks?” Merlin sucked air in through his teeth. “Are you sure?” He dabbed at Arthur’s blackened left eye with a cold compress.

The Lothian delegation had already in three short days managed to drink all the mead in the citadel (with some help from Arthur and his knights), and several knights were unable to train because of injuries. Meanwhile, although Arthur had managed to defeat all three of the brothers several times, the days of fighting and nights of carousing were beginning to take their toll on his temper and, Merlin observed, his physical wellbeing. It was as if the three brothers were taking it in turns to sap all Arthur’s energy; Gaheris and Galahad would spar with Arthur in physical competitions during the day. Meanwhile, Gareth would rise late after sleeping off all that mead, ready to brawl all afternoon and spend the evenings and nights drinking and wenching.

Arthur, needless to say, did not have the luxury of delegating any of these tasks to his siblings, Morgana having taken one look at the Lothians and decided to whisk Gwen off to her Cornish estates for a summertime of rest and recuperation under the watchful eyes of her late mother’s family.

Looking at the state of Arthur now, slumped wearily upon his bed with one arm cradled in the other and the ugly shadow of a bruise blooming across one cheek, Merlin wished that he could have gone with her.

“Of course. There will be a tourney next week, and we will need a few days to celebrate Galahad becoming a knight…” Arthur punctuated this statement with a heavy yawn. “Father simply decided that it would be easier if they stayed. So, good news. Lots of fighting, feasting and carousing. Plus, Lothian is a powerful ally; just think about the signal it sends to the rest of the kingdoms about the strength of our alliance… Ow! That went in my eye, you clumsy buffoon!” Arthur snatched the compress out of Merlin’s hand, glaring.

“You need to keep it closed, cabbagehead!” Merlin stepped away, tilting his head to assess the wound and sucking air through his teeth to express his sympathy. “That’s a proper shiner, though. He got you good.” He held out his hand. “I’d better have that compress back for another go.”

“He did not… _get_ me, Merlin.” Arthur handed back the compress, lips pushing out into a plump, sulky pout, and closed his left eye again in anticipation. “He was lucky, that’s all.”

“Oh, I see.” Merlin nodded while he applied the compress carefully to the swollen skin of Arthur’s cheekbone. “When you win it’s skill, when he lands a blow it’s luck. I understand completely.”

“Merlin,” growled Arthur. “I am more than a match for those three over-grown, hairy…”

“Handsome…” added Merlin, wondering how far he could go with this.

“They are not,” roared Arthur, “handsome!

“They have very nice manners, underneath all that northern bluffness. Galahad told me I had nice eyes, yesterday.”

“He did not.”

“Did.”

But instead of replying with another quip, Arthur closed his other eye and let out a pained sigh. Clearly Merlin’s usual tactic of cheering up the prince with banter was not working too well today. Sensing that the prince was in more pain that he cared to let on, he changed tack. “You’ve been working yourself too hard. You can’t keep up like this. There are three of them, and only one of you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not.”

“I am.” Pushing Merlin’s hand away, Arthur opened both eyes again—or at least, he tried to. The left one would barely open at all. “Trust me, the last thing I want to do tonight is have yet another feast. And the last thing I want to do tomorrow is to participate in tomorrow’s jousting. But would you like to be the one to tell my father that I’m too tired to take part?”

Merlin sighed, shaking his head, and wishing that he could fix things.

“I thought not.”

Just as Arthur leaned his head back against the pillow, there was a knock on the door.

“What is it?” said Merlin, raising his voice.

“The King requests Prince Arthur’s presence in the banqueting hall, my Lord,” came the response through the heavy oak door.

Arthur stumbled to his feet and squared his shoulders. “I’m on my way. Come, Merlin.”

“Wish we’d gone with Morgana,” Merlin muttered.

“What did you say?”

“I said, we should meet your father.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“Is.”

“Is not.”

Gods. Another two weeks of this? Merlin was not sure that he’d survive that long.

***

The dragon’s scales were scarlet and gold, and his eyes glowed a blue so bright that it could eclipse the sky itself. A huge pair of golden, bejewelled wings spread wide as it reared up on its hind legs, exposing its pale underbelly, throwing back its head as it laughed, its great maw open, exposing an array of sharp though slightly uneven teeth. It inhaled, and as it exhaled the world went white. But instead of the heat that Merlin anticipated, a glacial chill gusted across his naked body, and the dragon let out a sort of half sigh, half gasp.

“For heaven’s sake, Merlin,” said the dragon. “Don’t you put clothes on while you sleep?”

Blinking into the bright light, Merlin gawped up at the dragon. Its reptilian crest resolved into Arthur’s familiar tousled mop, and its mouth became Arthur’s amused, lopsided smirk.

It was nearly a week into the Lothian delegation’s visit, and Merlin was lying in his own bed, next to Gaius’s workshop—or rather, on the bed, because someone had drawn off all his bedclothes leaving him exposed to the cool night air that wafted in through his open window.

Remembering his nudity, Merlin hastily pulled what he could reach of his bedclothes back across his body. “Arthur! What the hell are you doing here? It’s the middle of the n—”

“Urgent message from an outlying village out in the… in the… you know. Out west.” Arthur made a vague sort of waving gesture towards the wall, which Merlin happened to know was on the south side of the citadel. “There’s been reports of a… a… beast.”

“A beast?”

“Yeah. A beastly… um foxwolfsnake beast. Nasty creature. Deadly. Spotted yesterday. They request our help.”

“Oh. Which village?”

“Um. Fox… Foxford.”

“Foxford?” Rubbing at his eyes, Merlin rolled to sit by the side of his bed, adding, to play for time, “never heard of it.”

“It’s near um… Near Deerford. Just before you get to um. S… s… Stagford. About two days’ ride, if we are quick. Come on, Merlin! Stop procrastinating!”

“Procrastinating? That’s a big word, for you!”

Arthur’s mouth twisted and he yanked Merlin up by the arms, his hands cold against Merlin’s sleep-warm skin.

“Ow! All right, all right, you impatient prat! I’ll just… I’ll get the knights, send a message to Uther, and get some breakfast from the kitchens.” He yawned. “Gods. What time is it?”

“Hmm? Oh, no need to get them. It’s two bells before dawn. Best to get off quickly. No need for breakfast. Or knights. They’re all hungover anyway. They’ll only slow us up. And I’ve left a note for Father. We just need to go. As quickly as possible, really.”

“What’s a… what did you say… foxbearwolf beast?” Merlin frowned. Something about this didn’t quite add up.

“Foxdogsnake. Wolf. Foxdogwolfsnake. Um. Head of a… a wolf. And body of a snake. Oh, and it flies. And teeth of a fox. Um. What does it matter? Stop arguing, and come along! Here, get your clothes on.” Thrusting a pile of garments at Merlin, Arthur turned around to face the wall. “Hurry up, we don’t have much time before… before the villagers suffer. Even more.”

“What, at two bells before dawn?” None of this added up, but it was too early in the morning for Merlin to make sense of anything. 

“Yes, Merlin. We need to make haste.”

“What’s it like? How are you going to fight it?”

“It has… you know. The usual monster stuff. Big fangs. Big, big fangs. Horns. Huge ones. And dripping with venom. You know the sort. We should be able to sort it out quite quickly. No need to wake anyone. What with all the carousing going on around here, we’ll be back with the beast’s head on a platter before they even notice we’re gone.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re awfully bossy?” grumbled Merlin as he pulled on his riding breeches and a loose shirt. “All right. You can look at me now. It’s safe.”

“I’m the prince, Merlin. I’m meant to be bossy.” Turning back to him, Arthur grinned. “Now let’s get going.”

***

In his sleep-addled state, it took Merlin about half an hour to work out that after heading off to the west as Arthur had informed the citadel’s surprised guards when they left, Arthur had now taken a turn towards the north. They were making quick progress, cantering on horseback along the still empty road.

“Um. Arthur?” he yelled, above the steady drum of his mare’s hooves. “Are you sure this is the right way?”

“Of course I’m sure,” said Arthur, airily, although he steadied Llamrei, his bay war horse to a walk. “I know exactly where I am. I’m the best tracker in the five kingdoms.”

Slowing his own mare to match Arthur’s pace, Merlin snorted, patting his mare’s neck. “I’m not Sir Gareth, you know. You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you know. The last few days, you’ve been on edge. It’s been one boast after another. Every conversation is a challenge. Everyone’s got to be the best at this, or unbeaten at that! I’m surprised you’re not trying to gallop off into the distance, urging me to catch up with you.”

“Unlike Sir Gareth and his brothers, Merlin, you are no match for my prowess on horseback. It would be no contest.”

“Arrogant prat.” Merlin rolled his eyes.

“Insolent peasant.”

“Dollophead.”

“Bumpkin.” Arthur paused for a second or two with his mouth set into a disapproving line before breaking into a barking laugh that made his whole body shake, Arthur took in a deep breath and let it out again, shoulders relaxing visibly. “Gods, it’s good to get out in the fresh air with… away from those warring brothers.”

“Gods, yes.” With an answering laugh of his own Merlin fell into stride alongside the prince. “I don’t know who’s worse. Gareth with his loud voice and incessant drinking, Gaheris with his startling body odour, or Galahad with his annoyingly nice hair.”

“I thought you liked Galahad.”

“Nah. I was only saying that to wind you up.”

“You’re an ornery bastard, sometimes, Merlin, you know that?”

“Learned from the best,” said Merlin with a sly look out of the side of his eye.

“Oh?” Arthur shook his head. “Pray elaborate. Who is this paragon of snark?”

“The master of orneriness himself. Arthur Pendragon, of course.”

“It’s a good thing for you that we’re away from the citadel,” growled Arthur. “Or I’d have you in the stocks for that.”

It was indeed good to get out in the fresh, cool air. The freedom that Camelot’s forests offered filled Merlin’s lungs and blood with a profound, clean energy that felt almost like magic. It was full summer, cloudless and filled with the promise of heat. The branches and grass were heavy with dew. Dawn was already bleeding into the sky in the east, sending pale tints of green gold into the velvety indigo canopy above their heads. The morning star, bright and filled with hope, hovered above the horizon like a benevolent eye. The peace of their companionship gradually gave way to the dawn chorus; the melodious sound of the waking robins and blackbirds and wrens, full-throated and fearless, filled the air. Merlin had always loved gathering herbs at this time in the morning, listening to the birdsong and thrilling to the fragrance of the honeysuckle and dog-roses that to him epitomised summer.

“It reminds me of home,” he said. “The dawn chorus, I mean. And all the flowers in bloom at this time. Summer is a busy time for us in Ealdor—collecting berries and herbs, milking the cattle and the goats, tending to the young livestock. But there’s such a joy to being outdoors on a morning like this. It’s difficult to describe.”

“Merlin, have you ever stopped to think that perhaps the birdsong would be a lot more enjoyable if you could hear it above your incessant babbling?”

“It’s as if… as if we’re part of nature, or rather nature is part of us, you know? And all the world is in harmony with—”

“Merlin!”

“Hmm? Don’t you feel it? I mean—”

Arthur sent him a withering glare.

“Shut up?” hazarded Merlin.

“Got it in one.”

The exchange left a warmth in Merlin’s chest that had nothing to do with the weather, and a little more tension leached visibly from Arthur’s shoulders with every step they took.

Indeed, for all his earlier eagerness to get Merlin away from the citadel, Arthur did not seem to be in any particular hurry to reach their destination. As soon as they were a few miles away from Camelot, trotting along a road that Merlin was almost certain led to Nemeth, Arthur slowed his horse to a gentle walk, and they continued for a mile or two in companionable silence while the sunrise breathed colour and life into the world around them.

When Arthur finally dismounted it was mid morning, and Merlin’s stomach was starting to grumble. They had entered a sheltered glade, with a stream running alongside it. The place was overhung by several large beech trees, and had plenty of grass for the horses. Indeed, it only took a moment for Llamrei to dip his head and start grazing.

“Set up camp here, Merlin. This looks like an ideal spot. And by all the gods, I am so weary I could sleep for three days.”

Placing his sword by his side and his bag behind his bed, Arthur lay down, legs crossed, arms slumped by his side. Within a few minutes, his breathing slowed and settled into gentle snores.

“Fine. I’ll just do everything then, shall I?” Merlin griped out loud, although there was no heat to his grumbling. After all, the prat had been performing the work of three princes for several days now. It was no surprise that he needed a rest before doing battle with some freakish monster or another.

Besides which, there was not much to do to set up camp. Given the hour and the summer weather, there was no need for a fire. It was more a case of ensuring the welfare of the horses, muttering a few discreet spells so that he would be warned if any bandits or other miscreants approached, and settling down beside Arthur upon the blanket, munching an apple while he waited for the prince to wake up.

The full sun was yet to start peeping above the canopy of the trees, but the bright sky formed a wide blue arc above the clearing, and here and there, the sun’s rays escaped through small spaces between the leaves. Merlin watched for a while, fascinated, as sunlight glinted on a dewdrop on the tip of an oak leaf, where it was transformed glittering into a billion dazzling colours. Away into the forest, a robin trilled, and something small scuttled through the leaf litter, rustling as it went.

Merlin closed his eyes to listen to the sounds of the forest and bask in the magical life force that washed over him like a benevolent wave. The last few days had been tough on them all. Little wonder that, bathed in sunlight and the tiny clamouring voices of the living forest, with his golden prince by his side, his own breathing started to slow.

***

When he finally woke up, the heat of the sun was beating down on his face.

“Arthur!” He leant over to shake the prince awake. “Arthur! Wake up!”

“What?” Arthur blinked sleepily up at him, propping himself up on one elbow and shading his eyes against the sun with one hand. “What is it? What’s happened? Are you all right? Are the horses all right?”

“No! Nothing’s happened, that’s the problem!” Leaping to his feet, Merlin grabbed his kit back and slung it over his shoulder. “Hurry up! We need to go and rescue that village.”

“Oh.” Arthur yawned and slumped back down onto his pack, rubbing his eyes. “That.”

“Come on!” It would be a shame to leave this place, but they had to go! It was nearly noon and the beast would be wreaking havoc. “We’ve got a village to rescue!”

“Yes, yes, all right.” With an economic movement, Arthur turned onto his side, pushed to his feet, and used his foot to flick his sword up, catching it in his right hand, the smooth bastard. “Gods, it’s warm today.”

“Yes! Now, come on! The beast is devouring everyone with its venomous horns, you said so.”

“I did?”

“Yes! You said, it was terrorising this village of… of…”

“Dogford,” supplied Arthur.

Merlin frowned. “Foxford, I thought you said…”

“Foxford.” Arthur clicked his fingers. “Of course. That’s it.”

“…and it could easily have devoured the whole village while we slept.” Merlin hurried over to his horse, slinging the saddle back on her before untethering her from the tree beneath which she had found a shady spot to graze. “We should get on with it! We’ve lingered here longer than we should.”

Seemingly unconcerned, Arthur sat down on a convenient rock, pulled out his whetstone, and started to polish the already immaculate steel of his sword. “Have we?”

Come to think of it, when Merlin replayed their earlier conversation about this supposed ravening creature, there were several inconsistencies. Not before time, a suspicion started to grow in Merlin’s mind.

“Wait a minute.” He lifted a finger. “Arthur? You don’t seem to be in a particular hurry,” he ventured. “You… shouldn’t you be saddling up Llamrei?”

Arthur grinned up at him, confirming his growing suspicions. “That, dear Merlin, is because we are not, in fact, in any hurry. And Llamrei is perfectly happy where he is. He has oats, he has grass, he has water.”

“But what about the foxwolfeaglesnake monster?”

Lifting a triumphant finger, Arthur grinned even more broadly. “I had you fooled good, there, didn’t I!”

Merlin gaped. “God. I should have known. You made the whole thing up, didn’t you?”

“How did you guess? You’re too easy, Merlin.”

“Huh. Well, I hope your letter to your father was more convincing than the cock and bull story you spun for me.” Shaking his head, Merlin stopped saddling up his mare and led her her back to her comfortable spot next to the old beech tree, taking a moment to grab a waterskin out of the pack that dangled from her saddle, and chuck it over to the Prince, who caught it one-handed.

Still smirking as if ever-so-proud of his own cleverness, Arthur cast a blanket across the still-damp floor of the clearing and sank down onto it, letting out a grateful sigh. “I’m sure you’ll do a great job of explaining it to him when we return.”

“Me?”

“Of course. I’ll be busy entertaining our guests, remember?” Arthur was openly laughing at him now, his head thrown back, belly laughs making his shoulder shake.

Merlin couldn’t help being charmed. This relaxed, joyful version of Arthur was one that he had missed while the Lothian delegation were in town.

“Huh. Well, anyway,” he added, to disguise the unexpected warmth that charged through him when he looked over at Arthur. “It’s a good thing you stopped there, because you were clearly running out of animals to name your fictional village after.”

“Oh, very funny, Merlin.” Arthur took a swig from his waterskin and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “And I suppose you would have called it Ratford, because that’s the only creature you see regularly.”

“At least that’s the name of a real place.”

“Bet it isn’t.”

“Bet it is.”

“Are you saying I don’t know the names of the villages in my own kingdom?”

“That’s exactly what I am saying.” As they bickered, Merlin was becoming increasingly aware of the emptiness of his belly. The sight of the horses chomping with enthusiasm at the lush grass around the base of the beech tree didn’t help. “Plus, I don’t suppose you thought to bring any food with you? Because I, for one, am missing my breakfast…”

“Always thinking of your stomach, Merlin,” drawled Arthur, sheathing his sword and standing to rummage around in one of the packs that he had brought with him. “Luckily for you, I am an expert in early morning expeditions, and raided the kitchens before we left. Here.” With characteristic accuracy, he hurled something somewhat larger than an apple at Merlin’s head, which for once Merlin managed to catch before it bashed him on the nose, which was just as well because it would probably have hurt a lot if it had hit its target.

“Is this one of Cook’s prime cheeses?” he said, cradling said object with incredulity. “How did you manage to sneak that out from under her nose?”

“Stealth, Merlin. Plus she has a crush on me.”

“Arrogant prat.” Rolling his eyes, Merlin brought the cheese up to his nose. It smelt heavenly. His mouth started to water. “You think everyone has a crush on you.”

“Well, you can hardly blame them.” Arthur smirked, drawing one hand up his frame. “For wanting a slice of this debonair, handsome, elegant…” he turned and rummaged deeper in the bag, retrieving a loaf of bread and a couple of the sweet apples that Gwaine loved, tossing one of these over to Merlin, who dropped the cheese to catch it. “Here. Gods, Merlin. Don’t drop the cheese! You clumsy oaf! Anyway, where were we? Ah, yes. All the women of Camelot love someone who is kind-hearted and brave…”

“Big-headed. Conceited.” Merlin took a bite out of the apple. It was an early variety, ripe in the heat of the summer, crisp and sweet, with juice that flowed over his lips. “Entitled,” he added, muffled by the fact that his mouth was full.

“Perfectly physiqued…” added Arthur, talking over him. “Strong, fleet-footed, honourable—”

“Perfectly physiqued?” Drawing the back of his hand across his mouth to wipe up the apple juice, Merlin let out a snort. “First, physiqued is not a real word, and second, I had to let out your breeches last week…”

Arthur narrowed his eyes to dangerous slits and stalked towards Merlin. “That was because I have put on some extra muscle. Merlin.”

“Ah. Extra muscle! Is that what you call it?” Merlin backed away, grinning, keeping two arms lengths out of Arthur’s reach. “I’m just saying that with all that additional muscle around your waist, and the fact that you’re a bit… you know. Big boned.”

“Big boned? I’m fighting fit!” Arthur picked up his pace.

Still walking backwards, Merlin matched his speed, taking little glances behind him, wary of being tripped by tree roots or bramble runners. “And all that feasting with those hooligans from Lothian was bound to take its toll on your waistline eventually…”

Arthur was gaining on him, so Merlin turned around and started to trot away from the clearing, yelling over his shoulder. “We got away in the nick of time, really.”

“I’ll give you the nick of time,” growled Arthur, launching himself at Merlin, who ran away, laughing.

There then followed the sort of hugely enjoyable chase and play fight that they had not had a chance to indulge in for many weeks. It ended as it was always going to, with Arthur snagging Merlin’s tunic, and bringing him crashing to the ground in a heap of soft bracken fronds, before straddling him and pinning him there with one hand, tickling him with the other. Merlin bucked and squirmed with all his might, laughing and yelling for mercy.

Eventually, Arthur must have tired of the game. He stared down at Merlin, eyes blown wide and dark in his triumph.

“Do you yield?” he said, gravelly-voiced and intent.

Sobering, Merlin stopped struggling and went limp. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as he thought about his position, effectively imprisoned beneath near one and a half hundredweight of hot, solid muscle.

There was a flicker of uncertainty in Arthur’s eyes then, and a lazy blink. Arthur’s gaze dipped towards Merlin’s neck and then returned. They locked eyes for a long second. A thrill of anticipation started to coil deep in Merlin’s belly.

“You have a piece of apple,” said Arthur in a low voice. They were so close together that Merlin could feel the rumble of Arthur’s voice against his chest, the heat of his skin through his linen shirt. “Here.” With one thumb, Arthur pressed something away from Merlin’s bottom lip. Arthur’s lips parted slightly and his head tilted forward.

Oh, Gods. This was so embarrassing. Merlin’s treacherous body could not help it. He was responding in the most natural way to having the heat and strength of Arthur’s body pressing into his, as if possessing it. But if they stayed like this much longer, surely Arthur would be able to feel how he was reacting physically to the proximity of all that power, and if he did, Merlin would never get over the humiliation.

“Well?” whispered Arthur. “I asked you a question.”

“You did? Oh! I see. Yes,” he croaked, all thought having fled. “I… um.”

“Do you yield?”

“Oh! I see. I yield. Sire.”

“Good.” With an abrupt movement, Arthur released him, pushing himself to his knees before standing and stalking away into the trees, shedding his shirt as he did so, so that Merlin had a tantalising view of his rose-gold, sinewy back—a view that did little to alleviate his discomfort.

“Because I need to cool off,” Arthur called over one shoulder. “There’s a stream over here. Bring the rest of the food. We can eat by the stream and refill our waterskins at the same time.”

Merlin didn’t know whether to feel relieved or bereft.

***

By the time Merlin had talked down his bodily response and joined Arthur at the stream, the prince was fully naked and sporting himself in the water with a carelessness that both filled Merlin with a reckless sense of hedonism and threatened to undo all the good mental work he had just done. He stood, shirt in hand, nervously fiddling with the ties on his braies, while Arthur flicked cold water at him and taunted him from the shallows.

“Come on, Merlin. You giant girl.”

“There is nothing wrong with being a girl, Arthur, as I’m sure Morgana will confirm. For example, Morgana had the sense to get away from those three over-competitive northerners, rather than trying to out drink, out fight and out stink the lot of them.”

Closing his eyes, to block out the vision of Arthur's rose-gold skin, glistening chest hair and lean, muscled limbs, Merlin conjured up a mental image of Gaius’s bunions and sent up a brief prayer for fortitude to the maiden goddess before divesting himself of his underwear and stepping cautiously into the water.

“All the way in!” Arthur surged up, providing Merlin with another glorious uninterrupted view, and dragged him unceremoniously back with him, so that Merlin fell headlong into the water, flailing and howling all the way, accompanied by the sound of Arthur’s unbridled laughter.

“Gods, that’s so cold!” Merlin gasped when he surfaced.

If he had been worried about his earlier half-aroused state, he was not any more. The temperature of the water put paid to that. Shedding his self-consciousness, he sent a surge of water barrelling across the hitherto still pool where he’d landed, so that Arthur lost his footing and was suddenly submerged, sending up a great splash.

Arthur emerged whooping, shaking water from his hair like a dog would. His bulk came slow but intent across the surface into the deep part of the pool where Merlin floated, treading water. “I’ll get you for that!”

“All right, that’s enough.” Merlin paddled back out of his reach. “I’m wet through now! Let me enjoy the peace of the moment for a change, you great big bully.”

To his surprise, Arthur complied, floating face up in the centre of the pool where sunlight glittered on the wet planes of his belly. “Ah. This is the life, Merlin.”

Letting his own head float, supported only by the cool water, Merlin could only agree. Now that the initial shock had worn off, his skin had lost its goose bumps and the stream-water soothed his aching muscles and the heat of the sunburn on his face. Floating into a shallow, rocky part of the stream, he lent back against the cradle of the rock, letting his eyes flutter close, listening for the soft whisper of the beech leaves, watching the green light that filtered through them through the spidery traces on his eyelids. Gurgling water flowed over him, caressing his fingertips, which he passed gently up and down his body, shivering at the delicious sensations this raised along his torso.

He was warm again now, having grown accustomed to the temperature, and something was beginning to build in him, something he was losing the ability to fight.

When his eyes opened again, Arthur was half out of the water, watching him, heavy-lidded and intent with an expression that resembled the one that he bore when hunting. It made something deep in Merlin’s gut flutter and flip. The power of speech deserted him. Biting his lip, Merlin gazed back. A sharp hunger in Arthur’s eyes awakened an answering need that gaped and clenched, deep in Merlin’s belly. Still watching, Merlin let his lips drift apart and moistened the bottom one with his tongue.

Arthur’s eyes followed the movement with a lazy flip, returning with a challenge that made his pulse race.

Crack! The sudden noise sounded behind Merlin’s left ear.

“What the—?” He jumped. Water swirled across his skin as he turned, surging to his feet. Struggling to find his footing on slippery rock, he crouched, feet in the water, hands outstretched towards the sound, first instinct to protect Arthur from any magical threat.

But this was no threat. A startled stag stared back. Vast and dominant, it loomed over them, its antlers towering and full formed. It blinked once, turned and went crashing back into the undergrowth.

By the time Merlin turned back, Arthur was full out of the pool, grabbing his braes and pulling them on over his bare, wet arse. “Quick, Merlin. Grab my bow.”

“But—”

“Stop loitering!” Arthur yelled over his shoulder, having dragged his boots on, and already leaping into the forest, sword in hand. “Get some trousers on and follow that damned stag!”

Sparing a moment to mourn both the loss of whatever it had been that was building up between them and the likely upcoming demise of the magnificent creature that had interrupted it, Merlin sighed and pulled his own underclothes back on. More slowly than Arthur, and with infinitely less enthusiasm.

“Now, Merlin!” came a yell from the forest.

“Coming!” lied Merlin, stomping back to their little camp and staring gloomily at the remnants of their uneaten picnic. He picked up Arthur’s bow and a quiver of arrows. Shaking his head, he shouldered both and followed his prince, muttering all the while.

***

“I don’t know why you’re so annoyed,” said Merlin as he fed dry tinder into the growing fire. “It’s not as if we are short on food. We’ve still got all the cheese that you brought from Camelot, and with a bit of extra rabbit and the trout I caught in the pond, we’ll be fine. And the beast was bloody enormous. We would never have eaten all that venison anyway.”

The evening had grown cool, and the two men were now fully dressed. Arthur’s cloak was cast across his shoulders in a great red fan, but Merlin’s jerkin did little to protect him from the breeze that had sprung up. As Merlin fed the fire with dry tinder, flames licked up and grew, aided by a surreptitious flash of magic that Merlin hid behind his eyelids. Catching on a pine log, they hissed and sang, sending heat flashing across Merlin’s skin and calming his shivering.

Peering into the tin pot out of Arthur’s pack, Merlin scattered into it a few herbs that he kept in a pocket by his belt, and sniffed. The rabbit stew was beginning to bubble. By his side, a pair of trout were roasting. He turned them on the makeshift spit that he’d fashioned from two sturdy tree branches.

“It’s the principle of the thing!” Arthur leaned back on one elbow, staring meditatively at the canopy of leaves and the darkening indigo sky. “I would have had him, if you hadn’t come crashing through the bushes at the wrong moment and scared him away!”

“You should be grateful.” Merlin took a swig out of a wine skin before tossing it to the prince. The wine was strong and fruity, leaving a warm taste on his palate. “At least this way, he’ll stay alive for long enough to sire a few more baby deer for you to chase.”

Once the trout were cooked, he took them down, When they were cool enough, they ate them with their fingers. The juices of Merlin’s fish ran, delicious and salty, down Merlin’s wrists so he licked at the mess, humming with contentment as he went. When he looked up, Arthur was watching him closely, eyes dark by the flickering light of the fire.

“You are far too sentimental about animals with big eyes,” Arthur admonished.

“Says the man who is eating my rabbit stew.” Merlin doled portions into two ceramic bowls, pulling out a pair of spoons.

Taking a spoonful of stew, Arthur blew on it for a moment or two before ladling it into his mouth with a rapid movement of his spoon. Once he’d finished chewing this mouthful, he tipped his head back, and poured dark-red wine into his mouth, a little of it lingering on his lips, which he lapped with his tongue.

Distracted by this tableau, Merlin shovelled hot stew into his mouth, instantly regretting it when it scalded his tongue.

“Aaah!” he said, hollowing his mouth out, inhaling and exhaling rapidly while he waving his hand in front of it in a futile gesture that did nothing to stop the burn. This caused him to choke on the hot liquid, bringing tears to his eyes.

“Honestly, Merlin. You’re like a child sometimes.” Taking his bowl from him and laying it on the ground, Arthur bashed him on the back, but not unkindly, until the choking stopped. “It’s a miracle you’ve survived this long. You’d starve if I weren’t here to catch rabbits for you. I mean, look at you.” He gestured with one hand. “No wonder you feel the cold. There’s nothing to you. I command you to eat more.”

Stung by this jibe, Merlin frowned back at Arthur. “Huh! The reason why I am thin is nothing to do with my diet! No, it’s because I spend so much of my time running around after bossy, imperious show-offs with dense skulls and appetites to match! If you weren’t so bone idle, you’d realise that… plus, I’m only shivering because you’re hogging the only warm item of clothing around here…”

As Merlin paused to take breath, he realised that Arthur’s eyes were brimful of mirth and his mouth had begun to twitch.

“…and you’re winding me up,” he finished.

“Every time, Merlin. Every time.” With a mock-sad shake of his head, Arthur tossed a grape up into the air and caught it between his teeth.

“Perhaps if I weren’t so over-worked…”

“Oh, so you’re overworked? What do you think the past week’s been like for me, Merlin? A holiday?”

“Huh. You love all that macho posturing.”

“And you love cleaning my breeches.”

“I do not,” protested Merlin, face pinking at the accusation which struck a little too close to home.

“Do.”

“Do not!”

Arthur was laughing out loud now, his chuckles filling the clearing and warming Merlin’s heart even more effectively than the now merry fire.

“Anyway,” Arthur added. “You are getting some time off. Why else do you think I’ve brought you out here with me?”

“Because you needed a slave,” grumbled Merlin, gathering up their now empty bowls. “I mean, how following you around, filling you with food and clearing up your messes constitutes time off, I really don’t know. Maybe in some sort of parallel, less clotpole-infested universe it might be, but not in my world, I can tell you that for nothing.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“Shutting up, Sire.”

But his grumbling was all for show. Because inside, he was glowing. He’d missed this so much, the last few days. This back and forth with Arthur, with their responsibilities and relative positions inhibitions shed, just sitting bantering, man to man. It was everything to him. Everything. It made all the hardships and difficult decisions and sacrifices he’d made worth while, just to bask in Arthur’s glorious, uninhibited laughter. And he could not imagine life without it.

Later, after Merlin had cleared away all the food, they sat together upon a log and stared at the fire as they traded stories and the temperature started to fall.

“Come.” Arthur extended his cloak out towards him. “You’re still shivering. Share my cloak.”

And because the gods hated him, Merlin had to pull that cloak around his shoulders and sit close to Arthur, their thighs touching. All that warmth and strength lined up along his side. How could he hide the way that his heart and gut clenched every time he looked at his companion? Something magical was in the air, and it made his skin thrum and his chest ache as he struggled to resist it.

Soon, the fire was burning low and their voices had dulled to mere whispers. All around them, quiet night sounds started to replace the music of the birds. Far off to the east a new moon had risen, clamouring for space in the dome of the sky amid the faint glow of stars.

Later, they curled up together on their bedrolls, still huddled beneath the cast of Arthur’s cloak, with the wuffle of Arthur’s breath faint and reassuring on the back of Merlin’s neck. They had adopted this position many times on the hunt over the years, so much that it had become normal. But after that moment earlier in the pool, a new awareness of Arthur’s proximity had stolen upon Merlin. It raised goose-bumps on his arms and torso and sent little darts of arousal shooting into his pelvis.

Meanwhile, Arthur, seemingly immune to Merlin’s disquiet, just curled one arm around him and told him to stop thinking so loudly.

“I’m not thinking,” murmured Merlin.

Arthur yawned. “Back to normal, then.” His breathing slowed and deepened, and his arm slid, loose and heavy, down Merlin’s side.

Neither of them mentioned the fact that they would be expected back in Camelot not more than three days hence, triumphantly carting some poor magical beast’s head on a platter. They would worry about that when the time came.

***

The next day when the sun rose, it brought with it a delicious sense of lethargy. Merlin yawned and stretched beneath the blanketing cloak, Arthur’s body a radiant source of heat at his back, before settling back down with contentment to drowse. Dew had fallen, picking out spiderwebs among the grass leaves in the clearing, decking them with tiny, fragile rainbows where here and there the sun lit them. As a result, the outside of the cloak was heavy and wet. This evident dampness did very little to persuade Merlin to leave the cloak’s shelter.

Of course, such delightful idleness could not last. Close as they were, Merlin could feel the moment when Arthur started to blink awake; his limbs lost their slackness and started to slide away, filling with tension. Mourning the loss, Merlin drew in a breath, and then another, before rolling to his feet with some reluctance to go through his usual morning rituals.

Returning to the camp, he then started preparing for them to break their fast. The rations in Arthur’s pack included, as well as an abundance of apples, some salt beef and black bread, which Merlin set out for them to eat. Meanwhile, Arthur sat yawning upon a log, whittling his sword, his hair springing out around his ears in a fluffy halo that sent an inappropriately fond warmth spreading through Merlin’s chest.

“What are you looking at?” Arthur glared.

With a jolt, Merlin realised that he had been staring.

“Um.” Face heating, Merlin reached out and rubbed at a speck of dirt on Arthur’s cheek with one thumb. “It… you… there’s a bit of a smudge. Right here! I mean, haha, we’ll be going back today, presumably, or tomorrow at the latest, and it wouldn’t do for the Crown Prince of Camelot to—”

He broke off, interrupted when Arthur sent one hand darting out to grasp Merlin’s wrist. There was an intensity of blue in Arthur’s eyes that mirrored the morning sky. Merlin could not have looked away even if he wanted to.

In the end it was Arthur who released his wrist with a cough and turned his gaze to their makeshift meal, which Merlin had laid out on the log next to him.

“So. What’s our plan for the day, then?” said Merlin chewing on a piece of salt beef.

“I’m staying here. I have important resting to do, followed by napping and then, perhaps, I might take a moment to swim in the stream.”

Settling back with his eyes closed into a dryish part of the clearing with his pack behind his head, Arthur smiled and crossed one leg over the other. The sun was rapidly warming, and he shed his outer clothes, leaving him clad in a plain white linen shirt and breeches, at first glance as humble as any peasant, save for the fineness of the leather trim to his boots and his aura of health and strength. But in truth, a second glance would reveal to anyone who cared to look that this was no peasant. The shirt clung to him, and did nothing to hide the fine curves of Arthur’s chest nor the thickly muscled form of his arms, while his determined chin and the chiselled set to his jaw betrayed the charisma of a man accustomed to commanding and being obeyed.

Merlin drank in his fill of this vision of Arthur Pendragon in his prime and glory—golden with the knowledge of his own strength and prowess—and inwardly thanked all the gods for this privilege. He swallowed. “I suppose that means I’ve got the day off, then?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin,” murmured Arthur, lifting his chin to the sun. “Naturally you will be tending to the horses and attending to my needs. Fill the waterskins. Catch some fish for a mid-day meal. Oh, and dry out my cloak. In fact, as we will be here for a few days, I think you should set up a shelter, in case of rain. And set up the fire, will you? Then you can sharpen my sword.”

“Pompous, idle, fat-headed prat,” muttered Merlin as he bent to retrieve the waterskin.

“What did you say?”

“I said, fine, I’ll get on with that.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“If your hearing’s so good, then why did you ask?”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

***

In truth, the tasks that Arthur had set him were not onerous and they served to pass the time as the sun climbed into the sky and began to fill the glade with an oppressive heat. Merlin saw first to the horses, ensuring that they were free to graze on fresh glass and could reach fresh water safely. They were probably getting warm in the full sunshine, so he removed their overnight coats and loosened their lead ropes, taking care to secure them with a quick-release knot.

Lifting an apple to Llamrei, he chuckled as the horse bent to chomp at it, his soft lips nuzzling gratefully at the flat of Merlin’s hand.

“There you go, old boy,” murmured Merlin, stroking the close hair on Llamrei’s nose, marvelling at his warmth. “Yummy apples. Nom nom nom.”

Llamrei whickered, tossing his head, but allowed Merlin to stroke him for a few minutes as he brushed out the burrs from his mane and flanks and gave him a pat.

When he looked up, Arthur was watching him, an unreadable expression in his eyes.

“What?” Looking down, Merlin checked the material of his shift. “Do I have a stain or something?”

“You spoil the horses, that’s all.” Shaking his head, Arthur looked away, cheeks pink. “Llamrei’s a war horse, not a pet.”

“Huh.” Chalking the moment up to Arthur having a particularly cabbage-headed moment, Merlin turned back to the horses. “He has to put up with carrying you, doesn’t he? Let’s just say that he and I understand one another.”

Later, Merlin stripped down to his breeches while he constructed a makeshift shelter, trying to ignore Arthur’s less than helpful instructions.

“You have to make sure that all the fronds are watertight, Merlin,” he was saying now, between yawns.

“Aren’t you meant to be sleeping?”

“Someone’s got to make sure that you’re doing it right.” Despite having declared that he was sleepy, Arthur was not slumbering. Instead, he kept coming out with barbed comments while he watched Merlin work from beneath heavy-lidded eyes.

“Well, if certain people had thought to bring a tent, none of this would be necessary,” Merlin griped.

“It’s about time you learned how to live in the forest, Merlin. You never know when it might be necessary to go on a deadly quest, and then you’ll be grateful for my woodcraft and foresight.”

“Woodcraft and foresight, my arse.”

Rolling his eyes, Merlin tucked a bracken frond into a gap and stepped back to admire his handiwork. The shelter did look cosy, with a cushion of leaf mould beneath a canopy of sturdy branches, interspersed with interweaved willow-twigs and topped with a thick layer of bracken, then their bed rolls. Inside was enough room for two men to sleep, if they did not mind getting intimately acquainted.

A sudden dart of mischief prompted him to grab Arthur’s now-dry cloak from where it had been drying off in the sun. Smirking, he cast it down on the bed of leaves and moss under the shelter, and crawled inside, lying down on it.

“What the hell are you doing?” Arthur stomped over and peered inside, obscuring the light.

“Just testing it. You know, like a food taster. I’d hate you to find it too short or moan about a stone poking into your royal backside.” Merlin yawned ostentatiously and turned onto his side. “Hmm, it’s quite comfortable, actually.”

It stopped being comfortable a scant moment later, when Merlin found himself being dragged out by one foot.

“Ow! Bully! I’m tired! Quit that!”

“No stamina, that’s your problem, Merlin.” Arthur grinned down at him, hands on hips, absurdly beautiful in the light of the sun that lit his hair from behind. “Don’t even think about getting my cloak all sweaty. You need to come and bathe before you go anywhere near our sleeping quarters. You stink. Come on.” Dropping Merlin’s foot, Arthur gestured towards the stream. “Or do I have to drag you all the way.”

“Oh, thanks,” sniped Merlin, getting up with a show of reluctance. Although in truth, the sun’s heat had in truth become heavy, and constructing the shelter had made him break out in a sweat, his skin pinking in the sun. The thought of a dip in the cool water of the stream was rather inviting. “That’s very nice, that is. Insulting me for all that hard work, after I have spent the morning slaving and you’ve just sat on your lazy arse all day.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Do you ever stop complaining?”

Merlin bit his lip to force back a grin. Still slow and leisurely, he walked up to Arthur and squared up to him, making full use of his height for once, and taking care to place his body between Arthur’s and the stream, to give himself the maximum advantage.

“All part of my charm.” He cocked his head on one side, looking Arthur up and down, considering. “Like you being hyper competitive is all part of yours.”

Hands on hips, Arthur frowned. “I am not. Hyper. Competitive!”

“Oh? Well, in that case, you won’t mind if I beat you to the water.” With that, Merlin was already turning on his heel, two strides ahead. “Catch me if you can!” he yelled over his shoulder, glee lending his feet wings as he sprinted off towards the stream, undoing his breeches as he went, keen to exploit the clear advantage offered by already being shirtless. “Last one in the water is an arsehole!”

“I’ll give you an arsehole!” Letting out a string of curses that would have made his father blanch, Arthur followed close behind, crashing through the undergrowth with little care for scaring away game for once.

“In your dreams, arsehole!” Laughing, heart pumping hard as he ran, Merlin led Arthur towards the place where they had bathed the previous day, disrobing as he went.

“You can’t call me that!”

Tugging down his breeches and underclothes with an economical movement, Merlin shucked off his shoes and wool socks, and letting out a triumphant yell, plunged into the water, bum-first. A wave splashed out to the edges of the pool. The sudden coolness of the water made him whoop and holler from the delicious shock of it.

When he surfaced, Arthur was still hopping on one leg, trying to get his final boot off on the tiny shingle beach.

“I win, you’re the arsehole!” yelled Merlin.

Arthur glowered at him. “You cheated!”

“Did not!” Standing up, chest deep in the pool, Merlin used his hand to send a big wave of water cascading towards Arthur, who ducked too late and got coated. “Arsehole!”

“Irritating peasant,” gasped Arthur, pink-skinned and fully naked, eyes narrowing and laden with intent as he forged forward into the water, directly towards Merlin, without a care for the effect of its temperature on his intimate parts. “You’ll suffer for that.”

“There! I knew you were a hyper-competitive prat!” Merlin backed away, laughing delightedly, feet sliding on stones while the stream gurgled and surged around him.

Once the initial shock had worn off, the water was not that cold, and Merlin felt refreshed and energised, warm even. When a determined Arthur finally caught up with him towards the edge of the pool, he wrapped both arms around Merlin’s chest and dragged him back into the water, protesting all the way. They grappled, thigh-deep, hands slithering on wet skin, laughing and joking as they splashed and dunked one another before finally Arthur caught Merlin in a wrestling hold that had their bodies lined up against one another from shoulder to groin.

“Do you surrender?” panted Arthur.

“Never!”

But being held so close by a wet and very naked Arthur was the single most thrilling moment of Merlin’s entire life, and the sheer exhilaration was beginning to have an unexpected and rather embarrassing effect on him. Despite the water, his erection was growing, his cock jutting forward as it filled.

In a desperate attempt to hide this growing and humiliating problem, Merlin tried to break free from Arthur’s grip. But the prat had managed to secure both Merlin’s hands behind his back with one firm hand, while the other forearm, burly and golden-haired, was wrapped around Merlin’s chest. All that thick muscle, golden and glistening and wet, could not be ignored nor gainsaid.

There was nothing Merlin could do. His erection bobbed, obvious and enthusiastic.

Merlin stopped struggling and resigned himself to being teased.

“I see you’re liking that?” Arthur’s breath on Merlin’s ear raised delicious goosebumps, making him shiver.

“Yeah, I suppose I am.” croaked Merlin, mouth suddenly dry.

“Minx.” Arthur flexed his hips, pressing into Merlin’s right buttock, which is when Merlin realised that Arthur was as aroused as he was. As he watched, Arthur’s hand whispered down the firm lines of Merlin’s belly and cradled the outline of his bare cock.

It felt incredible.

“Arthur?” Merlin’s breath caught. “What are you—?”

“Just getting you clean, Merlin.” But then Arthur’s hand moved in a slow rhythm that sent all thought fleeing from Merlin’s brain. “It’s been a long morning.”

A dart of sheer lust speared deep into Merlin’s groin. Biting his lip, he groaned out loud, the sight and by all the gods the sensation of that strong, sword-calloused hand moving on his cock almost more than he could bear.

“Are you saying I smell?” he murmured. The tense ache building behind Merlin’s groin, deep inside him, swelled into a fierce want. Unable to deny its hunger, he let his hips flex in time with the movement of Arthur’s hand. Slow and languid at first, and then faster and more fervent.

“Yeah.” said Arthur in a breathy, broken voice as he sniffed at the skin of Merlin’s neck. He bit and sucked at it, the sharp pain making Merlin arch his back and cry out. “You smell terrible, Merlin. It drives me crazy, sometimes. Just… hot, sweaty and always there, lingering, taunting me, reminding me of you, filling my head with thoughts of… I don’t know… ah… ah… how I bear it.” With an economic movement of his hips, he lined his cock up with the crease between Merlin’s buttocks, wedging it between them, exhaling sharply with a sound that filled Merlin with a blind sense of need.

Slowly at first and then with a building sense of urgency, Merlin rocked back against Arthur’s hold. “If it’s that bad, you could always clean me up, you know. With your mouth.”

Arthur let out an inarticulate sound as his hand sped up on Merlin’s cock and his groin pressed harder into Merlin’s crease, breath coming in hot, shuddery gasps that raised goosebumps against Merlin’s neck. “Fuck. Fuck, Merlin. Fuck, your skin. Fuck.”

Rocking back against Arthur in a rhythm that matched the accelerating thrum of his pulse, Merlin let his head fall against Arthur’s shoulder and closed his eyes. When Arthur’s hand sped up on his cock, an exquisite tension began to build deep in his gut. He let his mouth drop open. Harsh breaths spilled from him.

“Arthur,” Merlin gasped.

Behind him, Arthur’s cock was rigid and firm, sliding up and down. Arthur’s mouth was buried in Merlin’s shoulder. His breath came in hoarse gusts against Merlin’s skin. A thrill of recklessness entered Merlin’s mind. His imagination, always fertile with possibilities when it came to Arthur, prompted him to supply the next line in a gasping voice that was almost a whisper. “Next time you can fuck me if you like.”

“Oh, gods.” With a broken groan, Arthur canted his hips against Merlin’s. One strong arm snaking around him, Arthur pulled him closer until there was nothing between them but the cool slither of wet skin against skin and the heat of the sun beating against his eyelids.

Something hot splashed against Merlin’s back and that was it, the knowledge that Arthur had come undone while he was gazing down at Merlin’s arse, watching his own cock slide along Merlin’s crease… just that thought was enough to push Merlin over the edge. He followed Arthur down, intense pleasure shooting through him, making his legs tremble with the force of it.

They stood, ankle deep in water, for a breath or two before Arthur released his hold.

Merlin turned, still weak-limbed and breathless. “Don’t you dare let go,” he choked, grabbing at Arthur’s body and pulling him in close again. “Don’t you dare let go, now.”

“But…” Arthur swallowed, a tense line appearing between his eyes. “I understand if you… I mean, was this… is this just… I’m just… it’s all right if… I just…”

Of all people, Merlin knew that Arthur Pendragon hid a hefty dose of insecurity beneath that noble brow of his. Insecurity born of his father’s perfectionism, his sternness, and Arthur’s eagerness to please. Not for the first time, Merlin cursed Uther silently—this time for intruding on a private moment where he had no business being, by planting those seeds of inadequacy in Arthur’s head.

“No, Arthur Pendragon, you royal arse,” Merlin cried, pulling Arthur closer and burying his face into the crease between his throat and his shoulder. “Absolutely not. There is no just about this. It’s more than that. Get it into your thick skull. That… what we just did... was the absolute best thing that has ever happened to me, and I include the time when I was six years old and ate all Old Man Simmons’s honey cakes before being sick in the village midden…

“I don’t under—” Arthur swallowed, his neck moving against Merlin’s mouth.

“I love you Arthur Pendragon. Always have, and always will.”

“But…”

“But me no buts,” said Merlin, firmly, before adding, remembering what they’d just done. “Save only for my butt. You can butt that.”

“Butt your butt…” Arthur barked out a semi-hysterical laugh, but his shoulders relaxed minutely, which Merlin counted as a victory.

“Promise you will?” said Merlin.

Arthur drew back and pushed Merlin away, grasping him by both shoulders, staring into his eyes as if interrogating. Whatever he saw there must have been the answer that he sought, because the tension drained from Arthur as suddenly as if someone had cut a marionnette’s strings and a soft smile tugged at his lips instead.

“I do, too, you know,” Arthur said quietly, eyes blue and earnest, lit by a sudden stray ray of sunshine. “Love you, I mean.”

Merlin’s dropped his gaze to hide the fact that his sight was blurring. Something ached, deep in his chest.

“You absolute girl,” added Arthur, impossibly warm and fond.

***

By the time they got back to Camelot, three days later, Merlin had to tie his neckerchief higher than usual upon his throat to hide the bruises that Arthur had sucked there.

“No, Merlin,” Arthur griped, turning in his saddle to frown at him. “We can’t say it was a wyvern. Obviously. Nor any other kind of creature.”

“Whyever not?”

“Father will expect us to bring back some kind of trophy, that’s why.”

“Oh.” Merlin sighed and racked his brains. But the rhythmic side-to-side movement of Arthur’s ample buttocks on Llamrei distracted him, sending inspiration spiralling away and leaving him only with a sudden urge to molest Arthur’s back side, which would not be convenient at this moment. “Can’t you say that it… you know. Flew off, or something?”

“Flew off?” Arthur’s voice took on a higher, more incredulous pitch. “Oh, sorry Father, we tackled this really dangerous creature, it killed lots of people, but it’s fine now because it flew away?”

“When you say it like that, it does sound a bit far fetched.”

“Of course it does. Can’t you think of anything better?”

“Not while your bum’s moving like that, I can’t,” said Merlin, truthfully. “Can’t you ride your horse a bit less… a bit less…” he took one hand of his mare’s reins. “Provocatively?”

“I’ve been trained to ride since birth,” said Arthur in lofty tones. “I have been told I have a perfect seat.”

“I’d certainly agree with that,” said Merlin fervently, eyes still drawn to the place where said seat perched upon Llamrei’s broad and accommodating back.

“Hmm?”

“I said you’re a pompous prat,” he said, a little louder.

“That’s not what you said.” Grinning, Arthur turned his face back to the path. “You know, there was a time when you’d mask your insults with compliments. Now it’s the other way round.”

“I could go back to the way it was before, if you like.”

“No need. I like this better.”

“Of course you do, you conceited ass.”

“There you go. I was almost beginning to worry about you.”

The journey passed pleasantly in a similar vein, so that by the time they spied Camelot’s turrets from a rise in the road they still had not managed to manufacture a suitable cover story. Merlin was just beginning to resign himself to a lengthy period in the stocks when Arthur slapped his forehead and said “I’ve got it!”

“Well, don’t give it to me,” said Merlin automatically. Perhaps all the fruit would be nice and soft and rotten, by now?

“No, you idiot. I’ve thought of the perfect excuse. We’ll say that the creature was magical and vanished in a puff of smoke when I smote it with my sword.”

“Are you sure your father won’t accuse you of sorcery? Or worse, me?” As excuses went, it was a bit on the weak side. Merlin frowned, as well he might, brain being filled as it was with visions of local children hurling rotten strawberries at his head. 

“How is that worse?”

Merlin laughed hollowly. “Given your father's treatment of sorcerers? In every way.”

“Don’t be silly, Merlin. My father couldn't possibly believe you capable of sorcery. All you have to do is act as if I’m wounded. Get me whisked away to Gaius, and poof! My father will be too concerned about me to accuse anyone of anything.”

“I suppose so,” said Merlin. If Uther did have a weak spot, it was his son's health and wellbeing. 

“Gaius will back me up. If you talk fast enough, I mean.”

“Huh. Not without making me pay for it.” A vision of Gaius’s leech tank joined the vivid fruit-pelting imagery that was already swirling around in Merlin’s head. He sighed, already resigned to it. 

“Excellent.” Smugness radiated from Arthur’s wide shoulders. “Don’t you see? That way, you’ll have to tend to my personal comfort. In my quarters. At all times. For at least the next two weeks. If not longer. By order of the King’s physician.”

“Do you know, I think, completely by accident of course, you might actually have come up with a good idea.”

“Of course I have, you idiot. It’s me.”

“Arrogant prat.”

“Ignorant peasant,” retorted Arthur as he smirked at him over one royal shoulder.

Merlin grinned back. That didn’t sound too bad, actually, leech tank or no leech tank. Because, well. Several days closeted in Arthur’s comfortable chambers with only one bed between them?

That beat watching knights duff one another up in the tourney, every time. 

***

END

***

**Author's Note:**

>  **Prompt:**  
>  Fic- It is summer, M and A's friendship is stronger than ever and they secretly pines for each other. Arthur and Uther have to receive foreign dignitaries in the morning but for some reason ( a hunt / feast/getting back late from patrol) both M and A are tired and get up late and have to rush through the prince's morning rituals. Arthur unsuccessfully tries to help by splashing bath water everywhere and wearing the shirt inside out (and other things like that) Between themselves they manage to complete everything and get the crown Prince ready and are only a little late to the main event .(descriptions of how they did it, M secretly uses magic) Uther glares but within a few minutes they are welcoming the whoever guests. The guests stays for a few days and Arthur gets sick and tired of non-stop feasts, tourneys, hunting parties, inane conversations and diplomatic negotiations. M is always by A's side and is upset seeing A so exhausted and bored (M tries to take care of his beloved Prince as much as possible) Finally A's patience snaps and he fabricates the news of a creature terrorizing a small village near the borders and somehow sends words to Uther at night that he is leaving for a couple of days and leaves at first light with only Merlin. Merlin was unaware of the lie and on their way A tells him how tired he is of everything and he needs some relief from the guests who r just enjoying Camelots hospitality and r really annoying and awful (description of awful guests which r true). He doesn't want to go back before a couple of days. (It is clear A is not evading his responsibilities and never actually says in words about his physical and mental exhaustion, M understands and supports him. The guests r staying indefinitely for some reason like 2 more weeks) It is a beautiful summer day and they enjoy a quiet time in the charming woodland glades like napping, eating, taking a bath, talking etc. They really enjoy their alone time together ( Mutual Pining!!) But they can't confess their feelings to each other. From here the author can take their relationship further in the next couple of days. There may or may not be a thunderstorm and they get to spend more time together. Before or after returning Murthur love confessions happen due to circumstances ( Up to the Author when and how) Happy ending plz. Story is about A and M as much as possible with only minor appearances by others. After getting back to Camelot somehow A and M convinces the king and guests that A needs rest and the guests need to go back ( Gaius is Arthur and Merlin's pal and so are the knights) No serious violence /danger /injury plz. Merlin and Arthur r besotted with each other. Their lies are of no harm to anyone. Arthur is a responsible future king but the guests are really annoying. Merlin's magic is secret *sigh*. In this universe everyone is going to be happy in the future. The season 5 villain is never mentioned . What season 5?? Any rating and word count (Entirely Up To The Author). Fun and humor. May or may not be explicit. The Author will decide if there is a magic reveal near the end or a future reveal is hinted at with happiness. Whenever it happens the outcome is happy. Merlins magic reveal is not essential in this fic. It may happen near the end or It may remain a secret. It is Completely Upto the Author.


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